Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

XANDER

FRIDAY, MAY 20, 6 P.M.

The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity. We currently have twenty staff working the dinner rush. Four in front of the house and sixteen in back. I'm normally uncomfortable around this many people, so the owner hesitated to give me this chance. But since the owner is also my mother, I was able to wear her down. I need to get this right.

"Everything okay out here, Xander?" My mother, Sophia Marchetti, is beautiful and elegant. We have the same olive coloring and dark eyes, thanks to our Italian heritage. And while physically we're similar, my mother is more charming and patient. But we have the same drive. Which is how she was able to make Vinni's Italian Restaurant into such a success.

"I'm sure he's got this, right, Xander?" My brother Dom looks nothing like us. Nothing like me. Which might seem strange since we're twins. Fraternal twins. His hair is reddish blond and his light skin is freckled. I've always wondered if he looked more like our father, but Mom doesn't talk about that or him. All we know is that he died in a fire when we were young, along with all his pictures.

"Yes," I say, trying to sound reassuring instead of stressed. This isn't my first attempt at managing the Friday night dinner rush. The last time ended with the sauce chef dumping a plate of spaghetti on me and walking out the door. "Everything's going smoothly."

My mother's eyes narrow slightly, but her face remains impassive. She gives me a quick nod with a pointed look at Paxton, which I interpret as Keep an eye on him . "Dom and I will be in my office if you need us."

Paxton watches my mother and Dom retreat down the hall and turns to me. "Smoothly?"

Everything hasn't been smooth. But that's an impossible dream with a restaurant this size on the busiest night of the week. Paxton's about ten years older than me, my mother's right-hand man, and a pain in my ass. His brown hair with caramel highlights is stylishly groomed and he has a short, neatly trimmed beard.

When I don't respond, he shakes his head as if asking for patience and heads to the front of the restaurant. I relax, working out the tension in my neck, and take a deep breath. I can do this.

Barely ten minutes later, Paxton is back.

"The orders are dying on the pass. Do you know where your servers are?" Paxton asks, raising a judgmental brow. He doesn't think I can do this.

I ignore him, for now, as I stomp through to the front and motion for Iggy, barely managing to keep my cool. Iggy is younger than me, with dark curly hair and a warm smile. But he acts older, like a mother hen, taking care of everyone. "What's the hold up, Iggy?

"We got slammed in the last ten minutes." But his eyes betray him as he glances at Rachel, one of our best servers. Lately, she's been off. Is this her being slower? Or is Iggy trying to counsel her during the dinner rush?

"I don't need excuses. Get the food out to the customers."

He scrambles to do as I ask, and I check the front for further issues. The wall sconces and suspended globes create a warm, intimate feel to the place and highlight the murals of the Italian countryside. White tablecloths on top of red with flowered centerpieces create an elegant look. Mom did all this on her own. And now she needs me to step up. I have to get this right.

Once everything is under control, I return to the kitchen. "What's on deck?" the sous chef asks the room, ignoring Paxton and me as he manages his team. The kitchen is full of noise and activity—shouts, the clank of dishes, the sizzle of meat, and people scurrying. Which would normally put me in sensory overload. But I grew up in this kitchen with these sounds. The smells of onions, seared meat, and Italian spices are comforting. I step back to avoid the porter barreling through and almost run into Paxton.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" His voice is quiet, thankfully. His brown eyes watch me, and I keep my face impassive. "Won't you miss baking?"

I glance at my station, where Randi is trying to get my attention. She seems small in the bustling kitchen. Is that her short stature or her greenness at this job? Her eyes catch mine and they're wide with panic. I've been training her as the backup pastry chef for the last six weeks. She's been doing well, but today has been a test. It's her first time on her own, and we're in the weeds, as my mother would say.

"Excuse me." I leave Paxton with his doubts and stroll over to my protégé.

"Chef, I…" Her voice trails off, and I immediately see the problem. The cannoli filling is a bit too thin. Did she leave it in the refrigerator long enough for the ricotta to drain?

"Excellent job on the shells. If you add heavy cream to the filling, it will thicken the mixture and make them perfect." We've gone over this before, but there's a lot to learn and cooking for Vinni's is not the same as cooking at the small bakery she used to work at. I'm confident she'll get it. Randi is a quick learner.

She nods. Her eyes flash with gratitude and she hurries to grab the cream.

I can do this. It just takes connecting?—

"Fuck!"

My head jerks up. Fire shoots off one of the pans on the burner and the grill chef stumbles back. Jeremy and Paxton rush forward, but I shout at the man, "Put it out. What the hell are you doing?"

He grabs the pan, turning this way and that, as if he's forgotten all our fire safety rules and the complete layout of the kitchen that he's worked in for the last two years. This isn't even his first fire gone wrong.

I storm over to him, and the staff jumps out of my way. They bow their heads, at least pretending to focus on their own work. Are they worried I'll come after them next? Jeremy is already there, guiding him to an empty burner, where they douse the flames with baking soda.

The pounding in my ears drowns out everything else as I barrel toward the grill cook, seething with anger. "How can you be this clueless?—"

Jeremy blocks my path, his feet planted wide apart. I growl in frustration, but he gets in my face and jabs a finger in my chest. "Back off, Xander. I've got this."

"By letting your chef burn down the restaurant?" Part of me knows challenging his authority in front of the staff is not the right way. Not the right time. But this was my chance, and they're all messing it up. Heat flashes through my body, and I clench my hands to keep from throttling him and his chef. I'm aware of Paxton behind me, like an itch that won't go away.

"Walk away, Xander." Paxton touches my shoulder, and I jerk out of his reach.

My face burns hotter than the fire and my head buzzes with anger and regret. Everyone is watching. Staring. The kitchen is unusually quiet. I failed. Again. My body starts to shake and I can't breathe. I need to get out before I break down completely.

But there are people everywhere.

I push past Paxton, and he doesn't try to stop me as I race out the back door.